Read Danger in High Heels Online
Authors: Gemma Halliday
Tags: #General, #cozy mystery, #Women Sleuths, #Weddings - Planning, #Women fashion designers, #Mystery & Detective
Ricky took a deep breath, his eyes cutting to Dana as he let go of her hand. "Right. My alibi. Well, I wasn't lying when I said I was on the UBN lot at the time."
Dana sighed in relief.
"But I was lying when I said I was alone."
The relief disappeared in a flash. I saw Dana suck in a breath, her spine straighten, her hands clench in her lap.
"I was actually meeting with someone else," Ricky confessed. "Someone I didn't want anyone to know about."
Dana began breathing hard. I chewed my lip and prepared to pull her off of him if need be.
Allie and Tina leaned forward as one, practically salivating.
"And that person was?" Tina asked.
Ricky took a deep breath. "Neil Lane."
Allie's brow puckered, mirroring the collective curiosity in the room. "Wait - the jewelry designer?"
Ricky nodded. Then he reached into the breast pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small, velvet-covered box.
I sucked in a breath, recognizing the size and shape immediately.
Dana gasped, hands flying to her mouth.
Allie and Tina practically vibrated with excitement in their seats as Ricky knelt down on the floor, still careful to keep his face cheated toward the camera, and took Dana's left hand in his.
"I am so sorry for any pain I put you through," he started, his eyes sincere and intent on hers. "You mean the world to me, and I would never intentionally hurt you."
Dana swallowed hard, nodding. "Uh-huh?" she prompted.
"You are everything I've ever wanted in a woman. Kind, smart, sweet, beautiful inside and out," he continued.
"Uh-huh, uh-huh," Dana said, nodding, her eyes intent on the velvet box.
"All my life I've been searching for someone like you, and I can't imagine what I ever did to deserve a woman as kind and smart and sweet and-"
"I love you, too," Dana said, cutting him off. "But for the love of God, open that box!"
Ricky grinned. "Did I mention how much I love your feistiness, too?"
Dana bit her lip, the anticipation coming off of her in waves.
Ricky cleared his throat. "Okay, here goes." He flipped open the lid on the velvet box, exposing a diamond so bright I suddenly needed sunglasses. "Dana Dashel, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife-"
"Yes!" Dana cried, jumping up from her seat and throwing her arms around Ricky's neck with such force that it knocked him backward into his chair again.
Ricky and Dana engaged in a lip lock that I'm sure was going to be tweeted a million times before the end of the day. Allie and Tina gave each other a high-five and did a couple of fist bumps at breaking the celebrity news of the year.
And I couldn't help the ear-to-ear grin on my face.
My babies were safe at home with their loving grandmother, my husband was hard at work making the streets of L.A. safe for us all, I was slowly getting back to doing what I loved in the fashion world, the tabloids were printing
good
news for a change, and my best friend was now wearing a custom designed rock the size of a golf ball. Life was good.
And pretty soon, if we didn't watch out, Dana and I were going to be a pair of old, married women.
Of course, that didn't mean we couldn't still get into just a
little
trouble now and then.
* * *
About the Author
Gemma Halliday is the
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author of the
High Heels Mysteries
, the
Hollywood Headlines
Mysteries,
and the
Deadly Cool
series of young adult books, as well as several other works. Gemma’s books have received numerous awards, including a Golden Heart, a National Reader’s Choice award and three RITA nominations. She currently lives in the San Francisco Bay Area where she is hard at work on several new projects.
To learn more about Gemma, visit her online at
http://www.gemmahalliday.com
Connect with Gemma on Facebook at:
http://www.facebook.com/gemmahallidayauthor
Sign up for Gemma's newsletter to be the first to know about her new releases, sales, coupons, contests, and more:
http://www.gemmahalliday.com/contact.html
OTHER BOOKS BY GEMMA HALLIDAY
High Heels Mysteries:
Christmas in High Heels
(short story)
Honeymoon in High Heels
(novella)
Sweetheart in High Heels
(short story)
Danger in High Heels
Hollywood Headlines Mysteries:
Jamie Bond Mysteries:
Young Adult Books:
Other Works:
A High Heels Haunting
(novella)
Watching You
(short story)
Confessions of a Bombshell Bandit
(short story)
Special 75% Off Offer
New to the High Heels Mysteries?
Catch up for 75% off the cover price of books #1-6!
Just follow this link to my website where you'll find coupon codes for 75% off of books #1-6 in ebook format for all ereaders on Smashwords.com:
http://www.gemmahalliday.com/books_adult/high_heels.html
Offer only valid through January 31, 2013.
SNEAK PEEK
of the first
Hollywood Headlines Mystery
by Gemma Halliday:
HOLLYWOOD SCANDALS
* * * * *
CHAPTER ONE
TEEN SENSATION ON MORAL VACATION
LAST NIGHT THE
INFORMER
CAUGHT EVERYONE’S FAVORITE TEEN ACTRESS, JENNIFER WOOD, AT THE HOLLYWOOD MARTINI ROOM WITH A MEMBER OF A BOY BAND IN ONE HAND AND MARY JANE IN THE OTHER -
“Shit!”
“Tina!”
I swiveled in my chair to face my boss, Felix Dunn, standing in the doorway to his office, hands on hips.
“What?”
“Swear Pig.”
I pursed my lips. “That doesn’t count.”
“I just heard you say ‘shit.’”
“It was computer related. Everyone knows computer-related swearing doesn’t count.”
He narrowed his eyes. Clearly my argument wasn’t cutting it.
“It’s your own fault, you know,” I protested, changing tactics. I’d been typing up a juicy tidbit about
the
It teen actress, who’d been caught with a joint in her hand at last night’s after-party, when my backspace button stuck, taking out one very cleverly worded line, even if I did say so myself. “I mean, how many centuries old are these things anyway?” I went on. “Would it kill you to buy some new hardware once in a awhile?”
He shook his head. “Swear Pig, Bender,” he repeated, then disappeared back into his office.
“Shit.”
“I heard that!”
I stuck my tongue out at his door and dropped two quarters into the purple piggy bank on my desk. Somehow our newly appointed editor in chief was under the impression that yours truly swore too much. I have no fucking idea where he got that impression. But he’d set up the Swear Pig as a way to break my bad habit. Personally, I was fine with my bad habit. It’s not like I was shooting heroin or anything.
Which brought me back to my story.
I swiveled around, pushing my glasses back up onto my nose and put my fingers to keyboard, recreating my perfect line.
IT MAY BE ONE JOINT TODAY FOR OUR FAVORITE FAIR-HAIRED TEENY-BOPPER, BUT WITH THE WAY HER LIFE IS SPIRALING OUT OF CONTROL, CAN COCAINE, METH, OR EVEN HEROIN BE FAR BEHIND? HOW MANY BLONDES DOES IT TAKE TO SPELL “REHAB?”
I sat back in my chair, surveying my work. Okay, so it was a little mean. And the truth was Wood claimed someone had thrust the “stinky cigarette” into her hand just before the paparazzi flashbulbs went off, after which she’d promptly threw it out. But, seriously, she played the perky “Pippi Mississippi” in a tween cable show. This was tabloid gold.
I hit “send” letting my daily gossip column zip through the
L.A. Infomer
’s network to Felix’s inbox, then gave my knuckles a satisfying crack.
I glanced at the clock. Quitting time. And somewhere there was a big beefy burrito dinner with my name on it. I grabbed my Strawberry Shortcake lunchbox that doubled as my purse and made for the exit.
Unfortunately, not before Eagle Eyes Dunn could catch me.
“Bender?”
I thought a dirty word and turned around to find him leaning against his office doorframe. “Did you want something, chief?”
“You finish up that Wood piece yet?” he asked.
“Just emailed it to you.” I loved it when I was one step ahead of the boss.
“What about Pines?”
“Pines?”
Edward Pines was the director who’d recently been arrested when police found a stack of pornography under the seat of his car during a routine traffic stop. Not that naked bodies were a novelty in Hollywood, but these particular magazines had included photos of thirteen-year-old boys in the buff. I don’t care how much his last action pic grossed, that guy was total Hollywood roadkill now.
“What about him?” I asked.
“Being arraigned today. It’s your story, right?”
Damned straight. My headline the morning after Pine’s arrest had read: PINES PINES AFTER PINT-SIZED PRE-TEENS. What can I say? I have a thing for alliteration.
But as much as I was relishing the story, I wasn’t thrilled with the timing.
“He’s being arraigned
now
?” My stomach growled. “It’s dinner time.”
“The news waits for no one, love. Cam’s meeting you at the courthouse,” he said, ducking back into his office.
So much for my burrito. “Shit.”
“Bender…”
“I know, I know.” I reached into Strawberry Shortcake, pulled out another quarter, and dropped it into the ceramic pig on my way out.
At this rate, I’d be broke by Christmas.
* * *
The Beverly Hills courthouse was located on Burton, just a block south of Santa Monica. An unimpressive building, it had a sixties glass-and-concrete esthetic going on that made me think of a Doris Day movie. Totally outdated, totally utilitarian, totally at odds with the rows of Jags and Beemers in the parking lot.
I slipped my Honda Rebel into a space near the entrance. Yep, that’s right, I ride a motorcycle. A bitchin’ hot pink motorcycle. With yellow flames. I’ll admit, it was no Harley, but for a gal my size, 5’3” on a good day, it fit just right. And with L.A. gas prices shooting through the roof, it was the only way I could afford my rent and my regular Swear Pig deposits.
I pulled off my helmet, locked it to the handlebars with a metal chain, and shook out my hair. Luckily when your hair is as stick straight as mine helmet head isn’t much of a problem. I gave it a good fluff and felt the shag cut fall back into place. Currently it was auburn with deep purple highlights. Though, I’ve been through so many shades in my lifetime, I’m not even really sure what my natural color is anymore.
I grabbed Strawberry Shortcake and made my way inside, the cool air-conditioning a sharp contrast to the heat outside. Even in fall, the temp in So. Cal never goes much below 70, and this week we seemed to be hitting Indian summer in spades. After sending my purse through the conveyor belt and stepping through a pair of metal detectors, I made my way up to the second floor where Pines was scheduled to be arraigned.
A towering blonde in jeans and sneakers, holding a big, black Nikon, leaned against the drinking fountain outside the room.
“Hey, Tina,” she said, raising a hand in greeting.
“I see Felix gave you late shift too, huh?” I said, gesturing to her camera.
She nodded. “Caught me in the middle of the dinner rush at Mr. Chow. And Britney had reservations today, too.”